


hold me tender, hold me sweet

by crossroadswrite



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Victor Nikiforov, Omega/Omega, Scenting, Summer of mutual pining, if you're expecting sex from this fic... don't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 21:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19776796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: Here are a couple of things to have in consideration about the scenario Victor finds himself in:1. Yuuri is wearing three different pairs of very soft looking socks because his feet are very cold, a pair of boxers, Victor’s blanket and nothing else2.Victor’s never actually helped another omega through a heat. He’s barely had enough heats to know what he’s doing, choosing to supress them until his doctor’s lips were a thin line and they started talking about impact on his performance and making the supressants less effective. There wasn’t really anyone around when he had to have his heats, so it’s not like he even has the experience of watching others do3.Yuuri’s room smells like sex, strawberry candy and energy drinks4.Victor likes Yuuri very, very much and he has no idea what to do with himself around him most of the time(OR: what if heats sucked a little bit and you just cuddled a lot and also being touch starved made you physically ill?)





	hold me tender, hold me sweet

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, biggest most heartfelt thank you to LadyDrace, the broest of bros, and my personal guardian angel for betaing this fic <3
> 
> Secondly: here's my contribution for omegaverse week! i'm not completely satisfied with it but hopefully it reads alright. also if this fic reads like it has two energies it's because i started it, like, two years ago, and fished it out of my discarded ideas pile for omegaverse week.

There’s something inherently pleasing about watching someone enjoy a good meal. Doubly so if that someone is an omega close to a heat, when their sensitivity is ramped up to an eleven, and anything good tastes positively orgasmic.

Victor, being an omega who is attracted to other omegas, is all too familiar not only with the enhanced senses a heat brings, but also with the culture that has developed around feeding omegas. The market to witness an omega enjoying good food is wide, and very, _very_ thoroughly explored. It’s an easy way to make money, if you’re good enough at it.

Yuuri, aside from being a professional figure skater, also takes full advantage of that market.

Victor knows tuition in America is _expensive_ , and he’s no stranger to Yuuri’s videos. You can’t really be in the skating community, be attracted to omegas, and _not_ know about Yuuri.

Victor knows all of this on an intellectual level, but he’s still not prepared for walking in on Yuuri sat at one of the low tables in the living room, a number of steaming pots and pans laid out in front of him, and a camera set up on a tripod opposite to him.

Makkachin is laying next to him, giving him big puppy dog eyes and drooling.

Victor opens his mouth thoughtlessly, ready to remind Yuuri of his diet plan, but Yuuri speaks up first.

“I’m in heat,” Yuuri says dispassionately. “Or, well, I’m going to be soon.”

“Ah,” Victor says. And then snaps his mouth shut so fast, his teeth click together painfully.

Yuuri squirms. “Sorry I didn’t, um, tell you… sooner.”

“That’s okay, Yuuri!” Victor says as cheerfully as he can, because Yuuri is going to be in heat and Victor’s room is right next to his and the walls are paper thin and _oh god_. “What’s the camera for?” he asks, stupidly even though he _knows_.

Watching Yuuri’s videos on YouTube had been a comfort during the long, long nights Victor had waited for a call that never came.

“Phichit’s idea. People on YouTube like watching me eat, and I get money for it.” Yuuri shrugs. “I don’t really get it.”

“Ah,” says Victor again. “Right. Do you… need anything?” Victor might be panicking a little bit. He feels restless, all of a sudden, like he’s supposed to be doing _something_ , but he can’t quite figure out what.

“No?” Yuuri says, a frown scrunching his eyebrows up. “I’m waiting for Phichit to facetime me so he can teach me how to set it up properly.”

“Right,” Victor says. “I need- I need to go.”

“Where are you going?” Yuuri asks, brows still scrunched up, but tone dipping into something that sounds upset.

“The kitchen,” Victor says, fingers twitching slightly with inaction. “I’ll be back,” he adds, trying not to sound as ill-footed as he feels.

He pats Yuuri on the shoulder awkwardly and then flees to the kitchen where he begs Mama Hiroko to let him use it and maybe supervise him a little bit, because Victor _can_ cook, but he also tends to try to do everything at the same time and forgets to set timers for things and gets impatient. This, historically, has not ended in the best ways for him.

Mama Hiroko, forever his personal guardian angel, looks delighted that he asked.

«»

The thing about Yuuri is that he’s an expressive eater.

He doesn’t over-exaggerate his reactions or try to pornographically moan around his mouthfuls, which Victor has seen more than enough on mukbang channels on YouTube.

Yuuri honestly just loves food.

He loves eating, and because he abstains himself from it so often, whenever he gets a chance to overindulge it seems that he hits some sort of palatory nirvana. His eyes widen in awe, and he wiggles a little when something is really good. He hums, deep and pleased. He frowns too, thoughtful as he chews, declaring he’s unsure about the taste even after he cleaned up most of his plate.

Victor was somehow allowed to witness this in person, and he could weep from joy.

And the best part is that Victor not only gets to witness this, but also be an active participant in it. Yuuri usually has Phichit to help him with this, but since Phichit isn’t here, Victor steps in to help him read the comments in the chat. Yuuri isn’t allowed to look at the chat directly because some of the comments are less than pleasant.

Phichit had sent Victor a message to warn him about it, and Victor feels a gut deep sort of satisfaction in banning anyone who steps over a line.

“ _Is Victor there?”_ he reads, ignoring the _I bet your mouth would look better stuffed with something else baby_ that pops up. It disappears fast enough, thankfully. Yuuri has a very dedicated and fierce team of chat moderators who keep things running smoothly and are absolutely ruthless. “Yes! I’m reading the comments, hello!”

“I think people want to see you,” Yuuri tells him.

“This is your video, Yuuri.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuuri says. “Come here.”

And because Victor would do anything for Yuuri - especially when he keeps touching his tongue to the corner of his mouth, trying to chase the taste of teriyaki - he obediently goes to sit beside him.

“Hello!” he says with a wave, giving the camera a winning smile, he makes sure he angles the tablet where he’s reading the comments away from Yuuri. He glances down at the chat window where several people are greeting him back.

_“Where’s Makkachin?”_ Victor reads.

“Makkachin had to be banned from the living room for food stealing crimes,” Yuuri says seriously.

Technically Makkachin had to be banned from the living room because Yuuri couldn’t help but feed her which isn’t good for her, but the chat’s reactions to Yuuri’s words are hilarious, so he keeps quiet about it.

“ _It seems unfair that only Yuuri is eating_ ,” Victor reads out, then looks up at the camera to answer. “Yuuri needs to ingest lots and lots of calories right now, but don’t worry, I’ve eaten already!”

Yuuri twirls his chopsticks into a pan with noodles drowned in cheese, meat, and assorted sauces that is taking up a good chunk of the table. He pulls them out and blows on them before holding them up to Victor’s mouth, one hand under it to make sure sauce doesn’t drip on the floor.

Victor stares long enough that Yuuri has to prompt him to open his mouth like a toddler. 

“Say ‘ah’,” Yuuri says wiggling his chopsticks in a way that is supposed to be enticing. It works. Victor opens his mouth and lets Yuuri feed him, eyes widening when the flavours burst in his mouth.

Yuuri looks inordinately pleased with himself. “Good right?”

Victor swallows. “Very good. Mama Katsuki is the best chef.” He glances down at the screen again and tries to read anything that isn’t people freaking out over Yuuri feeding him. _“Did Mama Katsuki cook everything on the table?_ ”

“Most everything,” Yuuri says, and then goes about naming the dishes his mother cooked and the ones people dropped off for him. Because that’s a thing that happens, apparently.

While Victor is a little slow on the uptake, the good people of Hasetsu are not.

In retrospect, the way they couldn’t go into any store without someone offering Yuuri candy or a soft toy should’ve tipped him off. Even if, in Victor’s defense, the good people of Hasetsu love their local hero and always try to give him things. So what should _really_ have tipped Victor off to the fact that Yuuri was close to his heat wasn’t that things were being offered to him, but that he accepted them.

Suddenly the fact that Minako had dropped by earlier with a soft plush dog as tall as Yuuri, smelling only faintly like her and the store’s neutral scent, and had then given Yuuri a pat on the head and told him she would see him next week at the studio, makes a lot more sense.

“And these two Victor made earlier,” Yuuri finishes saying. “Everything smells really nice.”

“ _Holy shit Victor Nikiforov can cook_?” Victor reads out. “Why does everyone think I can’t?” He pouts at the camera, affecting being put out about it. 

“Yuri Plisetsky tweets a lot about how your food sucks,” Yuuri offers, happily eating some of the syrniki Victor had made.

“You pay out of your own pocket to feed Russia’s rebellious youths and this is what you get,” he sighs.

Yuuri snorts a little in amusement and Victor feels stupidly pleased with himself.

“ _Isn’t it dangerous to go around in pre-heat??”_ he reads. “Who told you this?”

“Sex Ed is really bad in a lot of places,” Yuuri says. “That’s a myth. Omegas’ scents during heats aren’t any more enticing than their normal scents. They’re just a little different.”

“The mindless sex-crazed omega thing is also a myth,” Victor adds because he has seen way too many comments about it in this chat. The number of people who had to be banned is staggering. “It’s all just running a high fever and crying over pictures of dogs.”

“It depends on your libido. Some people are really into sex during their heat, some people are cranky and just want to watch Netflix and cuddle. Some people don’t even want to be touched. There’s nothing wrong with any of those. You always have a choice.”

“And if an alpha tells you they can’t control themselves they’re lying to you, and you need to dump them.”

Victor tells the camera seriously, and Yuuri picks up a bit of spicy shrimp and offers it to Victor as if he’s rewarding him. Victor doesn’t mind being hand-fed by Yuuri and he minds even less discouraging ridiculous notions about omegas, so he lets it happen.

The chat predictably goes insane with both people supporting their words and people outraged by them. Victor can’t catch most of it at the speed the chat is going.

_I’m so glad my new two gay dads are teaching me these things,_ he reads.

_Hnnnnnnggggg_ , he reads.

_theres smth POWERFUL about 2 omegas eating and talking about sex ed,_ he reads.

_I WANT YUURI TO SHOVE THOSE CHOPSTICKS UP MY-_ , he starts reading and then stops because wow no.

_okay but theyre in LOVE???_ , he reads and then quickly jerks his gaze away and tells Yuuri some people would like him to speak in japanese for a bit to distract everyone.

«»

“Hug this for me,” Mari orders, thrusting the ridiculously oversized stuffed dog Minako brought over into Victor’s arms. He almost stumbles back a step, not expecting it to be so heavy.

“Okay?” he says, a little lost.

“Keep hugging it until I tell you to stop. Or until it smells like you, whichever comes first.”

“Isn’t this Yuuri’s?”

“Yes,” she says, and then walks away.

«»

By the time Mari comes back for the dog, Victor has been laying half on top of it, reading his book, and has tied one of the softest blankets he owns around its shoulders. Yuuri locked himself in his room the night before and hasn’t been out since. Victor has been trying to give him as much privacy as he can, putting on some headphones and listening to his _I’m sad because a cute boy won’t kiss me_ playlist.

“Is he alright?” Victor asks. “Can I do anything to help?”

Mari raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“Not like _that_ ,” Victor says, a little exasperated.

Well, he wouldn’t mind helping Yuuri with the sex part of it, but he’d prefer doing it when they’re officially dating and have maybe declared their undying love for each other. It’s not the sex part Victor is worried about, it’s the crushing loneliness that his heats always seem to drag into his room and smear all over the walls like a fresh coat of paint, leaving Victor to smell the fumes for three days straight and cry about it into his pillow. He doesn’t want Yuuri to have to feel like that, if he can help it.

Mari hauls the stuffed toy over her shoulder. “Not really. If he lets anyone come in and if he wants you in there, I’ll call you.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mari.”

“Sure thing, Vicchan,” she says, ruffling his hair messily, as if he’s not only three years her junior and taller than her. Victor loves that. He loves that Mari doesn’t give two shits about who he is, as long as he’s nice to Yuuri. He loves how she pats him on the cheek with her calloused hands, careless enough that Victor’s teeth knock together, and how she punches him in the arm so hard it hurts when she thinks something is funny.

Victor never had a sister before who threatened to beat up people for him. It’s nice.

«»

“This smells disgusting,” Yuuri tells him when Victor knocks on his door and awkwardly offers a thermos with an unholy tea blend his Mama taught him for heat cramps.

Mama Hiroko had made the mistake of mentioning in passing how much Yuuri struggled with them, and Victor just couldn’t _not_ try to help.

“Mama swears by it,” Victor offers and watches as Yuuri pinches his nose like a little kid and tries to chug all of it down at once. The tea is very hot and Victor has to grab it out of his hand before he burns something important in his throat with it.

Yuuri makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t really fight him. He’s shifting on his feet like he can’t find a comfortable way to stand, and his knees keeps twitching like they want to give out under him.

“Do you want to lay down?”

“Yes, please,” Yuuri says, sounding relieved, and immediately heads for the bed. The blanket Victor lent him is wrapped tightly around his shoulders and flutters around his calves like a cape. Yuuri leaves the door open and doesn’t as much lay down as he trips himself onto his bed filled with stray clothing and an impressive amount of pillows. It looks very comfortable.

“Close the door behind you,” Yuuri calls out and _ah_ , right, Victor is supposed to come in.

He closes the door behind him, heart suddenly beating double tempo, and feeling like he’s intruding. He sits a bit awkwardly on Yuuri’s desk chair, and wraps his hands around the thermos, letting the warmth comfort him.

Here are a couple of things to have in consideration about the scenario Victor finds himself in:

  1. Yuuri is wearing three different pairs of very soft looking socks because his feet are very cold, a pair of boxers, Victor’s blanket and _nothing else_
  2. Victor’s never actually helped another omega through a heat. He’s barely had enough heats to know what he’s doing, choosing to supress them until his doctor’s lips were a thin line and they started talking about impact on his performance and making the supressants less effective. There wasn’t really anyone around when he had to have his heats, so it’s not like he even has the experience of watching others do
  3. Yuuri’s room smells like sex, strawberry candy and energy drinks
  4. Victor likes Yuuri very, very much and he has no idea what to do with himself around him most of the time



He puts the thermos on the desk, for lack of a better thing to do, and when he turns back towards Yuuri, he’s peering over at Victor with half his face smushed against the giant dog plush.

“You’re far away,” Yuuri says, voice a little off.

Victor takes a moment to figure out what to do with that, which is exactly enough time for Yuuri to turn his face away and pull the blanket over his head.

“‘s fine,” Yuuri says. “I understand if you don’t wanna touch me right now.” There’s a tremble to his voice that falls and breaks at the last word. Victor can hear it even muffled by the blanket, and _oh no, oh no no no no_. “I’m disgu-”

Victor is across the room before Yuuri finishes the sentence, knees bruising as they hit the ground.

“Yuuri,” he cuts him off, his knees are practically kissing the wood structure of Yuuri’s bed, but not quite, because Victor hasn’t been given permission to touch it yet, and he’s not sure he’s allowed. “ _Yuuri._ I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m allowed to do with you.”

Yuuri peeks from under the blanket. There’s a redness to his eyes that makes Victor panicky.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Yuuri asks. “Everything. You’re allowed everything.”

Here’s the thing about heats: while they don’t completely impair your ability to consent and turn you into a mindless fuckhole, they are a bit like being a little tipsy. Being a little bit tipsy while running a fever, and having cramps and muscle pain, and feeling too much all at once, and getting annoyingly horny, and-

And your tongue gets a little looser in your mouth, you say things you would never say otherwise. 

Victor can be excused for his brain short-circuiting a little bit at Yuuri’s words, just as he can be excused for not fully believing them.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he breathes out, helplessly.

“Are your hands cold?” Yuuri asks, diverting the course of the conversation entirely.

“I- what?”

“Your hands are always cold.”

“I… have bad circulation.” Victor has to wear special gloves and knee warmers so the cold of the ice rink doesn’t make his joints hurt.

“Can I have one?”

“A hand?” He asks, feeling completely lost.

“Yeah.”

Victor frowns and lifts up one hand. Yuuri sneaks an arm from under the blanket, curling his fingers around Victor’s wrist, and pulling until he can press Victor’s cold fingers against his cheek and temple. He’s burning up, but that’s to be expected really.

“Thanks,” Yuuri hums, closing his eyes on a sigh. His lips are grazing Victor’s wrist and Victor finds himself wondering how so many people’s reaction to having something good and slightly overwhelming happen to them is _I’m dying_. Victor’s not dying. He doesn’t want to die, he wants to live forever, just like this, with Yuuri’s lips on his wrist, kneeling before his bed like people kneel before altars.

«»

Yuuri is an ugly crier, Victor finds. He isn’t as emotional as Victor is during his heats, but he still cries when Makkachin trots into his room and licks his chin, happy to see him. He cries when Victor helps him remake his bed with sheets that aren’t sweat and slick and come and Powerade soaked.

His face scrunches up and it gets blotchy red, and he makes this distressing hiccupping sound that makes Victor want to bundle him up to his chest and zip his jacket around both of them, or maybe drag Yuuri into his room and build a fort made out of pillows and soft things that smell like both of them.

“You’re just so nice and pretty,” Yuuri sobs. “I can’t look at you, you’re too _pretty_.” And then he grabs Victor by the back of the neck and shoves Victor’s face into his neck, so Yuuri won’t have to look directly at him.

Victor hesitates before he pulls him closer and cuddles him, running a hand over his back and hair soothingly.

When Yuuri’s knees begin to tremble, still weak from the fever and general heat exhaustion, Victor backs away until his legs hit the bed. He means to lay Yuuri down and cover him under every single blanket piled on the bed, but Yuuri seems to have other ideas and pushes Victor down so he can sit on his lap.

They stay like that, Yuuri straddling Victor’s thighs with Victor’s lips very, very close to his neck. Yuuri seems to have gotten comfortable and there’s no universe in which Victor pushes Yuuri away from him, so he doesn’t dare twitch even a single muscle.

If Victor had his way, he’d spend most of his time with Yuuri using him as a mattress until Victor’s knees and elbows and nose warm up and he’s saturated with Yuuri’s scent. But Victor can’t get his way because that’d be a little too much right now and he’s letting Yuuri lead on this one.

“I’m gross,” Yuuri grumbles, after he’s calmed down a little bit. “I need a shower,” he says, not moving a single muscle.

“Okay,” Victor says after long minutes have passed without Yuuri making any move to get up, except for the twirl of his fingers through the short hairs at Victor’s nape. It feels very, very nice. Victor has been trying very hard not to let himself be lulled to sleep by the comfort that is Yuuri in his lap. In his negotiations with sleep he has accorded to the happy middle term of entering a peaceful state of existence where he doesn’t really have anything on his mind and just focuses on breathing and basking in Yuuri with every sense he has.

“Don’t wanna move,” Yuuri sighs and Victor can feel his breath on his neck.

“I could carry you,” Victor offers.

Yuuri makes a noise that’s more a yes than a no, so Victor starts the very awkward task of scooting forward on a bed when you have someone on your lap, until he can stand up, hands securely gripping Yuuri’s thighs.

The lurch makes Yuuri yelp in surprise and clutch at Victor’s neck tightly, his thighs clamping around Victor’s hips like a vice. And then, when he realizes what has happened, he lets out a very, very soft noise that Victor has no idea what to do with. His face ends up buried in Victor’s neck, mouth dangerously close Victor’s scent gland, huffing heavily on it, and Victor has no idea what to do with that either.

(They’re both very studiously ignoring the semi Yuuri just acquired. For both of their sanities.)

“Bath,” Victor says, needing the verbal reminder of what the point of this exercise in self-flagellation is.

“Bath,” Yuuri agrees.

When Victor finally makes it to the bathroom, Yuuri slams the door in his face with an embarrassed flush and a squeaked out, “Sorry!”

«»

“Your voice is nice,” Yuuri says, as if there isn’t an entire YouTube channel dedicated to making ASMR videos out of his interviews. As if Victor hadn’t spent his last lonely heat before making the decision to come to Hasetsu listening to those videos on a loop.

(In one particular interview Yuuri says Victor’s name exactly three times, the Japanese shaping it differently than Victor is used to hearing it, adding extra vowels to it.

_Victoru_.

It sounds nice. Victor likes it.

_Victoru, Victoru, Victoru._ )

“Would you like me to read to you?” he asks, very quietly.

“That’d be nice,” Yuuri says, eyes fluttering closed lazily, and limbs heavy where he’s curled up on the bed, head pillowed on Victor’s thigh. His fever has mostly gone down. His heat will probably break soon, and Victor selfishly feels sad about it. He doesn’t want to lose his only excuse to stand so close to Yuuri, he doesn’t want to be held at arm’s length anymore when he knows what it feels like to be held close.

“Okay,” Victor says, and pulls up a book he’s been reading. It’s in Russian, but Victor had just been speaking to one of his mothers on the phone in Russian when Yuuri commented on his voice. “I can do French too, if you’d like,” he adds and knows his tone sounds ridiculous. It sounds too much like peacocking, too much like _look what I can do, look at how many ways I can please you, look at how well I can take care of you_.

Yuuri hums in a way that Victor can only describe as decadently indulgent. Victor can feel the vibrations where Yuuri’s jaw is pressed against his thigh. “Maybe later,” Yuuri says.

“Okay,” Victor says, helplessly, and starts reading.

«»

Victor is being tricked. He’s very aware that he’s being tricked, but he can’t find it in himself to mind.

It’s edging on the fifth day of Yuuri’s heat. His fever has completely broken and they’ve managed to go to the rink for a couple hours.

Yuuri had gotten cranky over Victor hovering and skating careful circles around him, but Yuuri hasn’t eaten anything other than strawberry chocolate and Powerade for _days_ , he might collapse. So Victor hovers, and Yuuri frowns and glares and may or may not throw a dildo at Victor when he follows him from the rink to his room like a kicked puppy.

Yuuri had apologized for the dildo thing. Victor thinks he’s still apologizing.

“You should eat that,” Victor tells him, even as he opens his mouth and lets Yuuri feed him directly from his plate.

“I’m not hungry,” Yuuri says.

Victor finds that hard to believe. Victor is also unreasonably hungry for someone who has already eaten three full plates of food. He shouldn’t be letting Yuuri just push all his food on him like this, but he is.

“You should eat a little more,” Victor tries again.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says holding a piece of chicken up to Victor’s lips. “I always get nauseous after. I’ll eat better tomorrow.”

Victor opens his mouth to accept it and decides to let it be for now.

«»

The next day, Victor wakes up later than he usually does, feeling like he left his brain soaking overnight and forgot to wring it out before he put it back in its place. He blinks sluggishly at his ceiling, and gives himself a moment to breathe.

Then he reaches for his phone, squinting at the numbers on the display, and almost falls off the bed in his hurry to get up and get dressed.

He manages to stumble into the living room, and stands in the middle of it, feeling lost until Mama Hiroko pushes a bowl of food into his hands, and makes him sit down to eat. Victor suddenly realizes he’s starving, and practically inhales the food. Mama Hiroko puts another one in front of him and he inhales that too before he remembers there’s something he’s supposed to be doing.

“Where’s Yuuri?” he asks Mari as she walks by.

“He went to the rink a while ago,” Mari tells him.

“How long ago did he leave?” Victor asks, trying not to feel too put out about the fact that Yuuri left without him. He has no idea why that is hitting him so hard right now, but it is.

“About three hours, I guess. He’s always eager to get out of the house after a heat, he hates being cooped up.”

“Thanks, Mari,” he says, levering himself up. “Can I take the bike?”

“Are you good to ride it?” she asks him.

Victor looks at her in confusion, tilting his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mari gives him an unimpressed look. “Just don’t hurt yourself,” she says, and goes back to her chores.

Victor decides to shrug the conversation off, and make his way to the rink.

It’s not that long of a trip from the inn to Ice Castle, it’s barely a workout, especially for Victor who’s a trained athlete and has won Olympic medals, and yet a twenty minute bike ride leaves his clothes plastered to his body with sweat, his fringe hanging limply over his forehead as he breathes hard.

Maybe he’s coming down with something, which would be terrible because Victor isn’t really the type of person who gets sick often or who deals well with being sick well.

He locks the bike up and heads inside.

Yuuri’s skating lazy figures onto the ice, and Victor breathes out a sigh at how beautiful he is when he’s like this, at peace with himself.

Victor doesn’t make any noise as he goes down the stairs that lead to the ice, but somehow Yuuri must have heard him, because he stills, with his back to Victor, and then turns, eyes immediately zeroing in on him.

Victor fully expects him to keep skating figures. It’s been a while since Yuuri was bothered by Victor watching him as he skated, but instead he skates towards the boards. He leans against the barrier and then he _smiles_ , softly and fondly and Victor feels his heart squeeze painfully in his throat. He feels like he starts to sweat harder, starts feeling a little more woozy.

When his vision focus back on Yuuri, he’s frowning.

Victor steadies himself on the boards and tries to smile reassuringly.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks, frown still in place, and not seeming reassured in the least.

“Ah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Victor says lightly. “I think I caught a cold.”

Yuuri stares at him, his nostrils flair for a second, and his frown deepens.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Yuuri says.

“I’m not lying?” Victor protests, confused, because why would Yuuri even _think_ that? If anyone here is a liar it’s Yuuri for seducing Victor and promising him the world and then not calling for _months_ on end. Not that Victor’s still bitter about that.

Yuuri gives him a long stare, and then he asks, “Victor, when was your last heat?”

Victor is confused as to how that’s relevant. “After Russian Nationals.”

Yuuri hums. “Have you been taking your suppressants?”

“Of course I’ve been-“ Victor starts. He hates having heats, and he takes his suppressants religiously, except-

Except he ran out two weeks ago, and has yet to get a refill for them.

“But I can’t be-“ he says, because this doesn’t _feel_ like a heat to him. For starters, he’s not doubled over in pain, he doesn’t feel horribly nauseous and achingly lonely, so it can’t be a heat, right?

He looks at Yuuri feeling lost, and Yuuri’s eyes soften.

“Victor,” he says, and his tone is so achingly sweet it almost drips with it. He puts a hand on Victor’s cheek and Victor has to stop himself from leaning his full weight into it. Yuuri’s cold hands feel wonderful on his feverish skin. “Victor, let’s go home, okay?”

And Victor can’t do anything but breathe out a tired, “Okay.”

«»

Victor gets a sudden craving for potato chips on their way back to the inn, so they stop at a konbini.

He really only means to get some chips, but next thing he knows he’s at the register with a basket full of things and a popsicle in his mouth. He blinks down at his purchases.

“I don’t think I have enough money for this,” he says, and feels suddenly sad he’ll have to put some of it back.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuuri says, and takes out his credit card to pay. Victor opens his mouth to protest, but Yuuri gives him an amused look and says, “You can take it out of my coaching fees.”

Right. The coaching fees Victor will never charge Yuuri. Those choaching fees. He almost wants to laugh, but he thinks Yuuri would be upset if he found out Victor never intended to let him pay him for his time, so instead he turns his attention to a keychain display on top of the counter and pokes an adorable weighted dog charm. It swings back and forward lazily, and Victor wants to add it to their cart but he already feels bad for making Yuuri pay for so much stuff.

Yuuri takes his hand to tug him toward the exit, and Victor wraps his fingers around his palm maybe a little too tightly.

“Ah, excuse me,” the store clerk calls before they have a chance to leave.

Yuuri and Victor turn back to them in unison, to see them holding up the keychain Victor was playing with.

“Please accept this. On the house,” they say, head dropped in a slight bow.

And now Victor has a problem, because he’s holding a popsicle in one hand, and Yuuri’s hand in the other, and he doesn’t want to let go of either of those.

Yuuri seems to understand his conundrum, and hikes the shopping back up so it’s held on the crook of his elbow. The store clerk deposits the keychain on Yuuri’s free hand, and Yuuri, being the absolute genius he is, separates their linked hands just enough so he can drop the keychain in-between their palms, safely trapped in their grip.

Victor beams, and bows to the store clerk. “Thank you so much, I’ll treasure it,” he says, in his choppy Japanese, before Yuuri starts pulling him out of the store.

«»

For a heat, this is possibly the best, and least painful Victor’s ever had since he presented.

Or it is, until Yuuri drops him off in his room with the bag full of groceries, a pile of freshly clean pillows and bed sheets, and a “I’ll leave you to it,” before he disappears for the rest of the day.

Victor feels okay enough to try to make a nest, which is new. At this point he’s normally in too much pain to even get up, so he feels like he makes a clumsy job of it. He lays down, he eats his snacks and drinks three water bottles, and feels alright for a couple of hours.

He hasn’t seen Yuuri for six hours when the pain starts. First, it’s just cramps in his stomach, but that quickly spreads to the rest of the body, and sure enough Victor finds himself in the familiar situation of feeling his muscles spasming with a pain that seems to be trying to crush his heart in his chest. It gets a little hard to breathe, but that’s nothing new either.

His nest only smells like him and no one else, which makes every lungful of air he pulls in that little bit much more grating.

He feels abandoned and alone and he wants to claw his skin off, but he knows better than to do that, so he curls his hands into fists and tries to ride it out.

«»

Victor is startled into consciousness by someone touching him, and he flinches, panic taking hold around his throat immediately, until his eyes adjust and he sees that it’s only Yuuri.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says voice soft, hushed. “You didn’t come out for a while, I was worried.”

“’m fine,” Victor mumbles, and, as if to punctuate his sentence, a wave of intense pain wracks his body, and he shuts his eyes against it, breathing hard through his teeth.

He feels Yuuri’s touch on his forehead again. Yuuri’s hands are normally hot, but they feel cold to Victor.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, and his voice is different now. More apprehensive, almost sad. “Why didn’t you say you were heat sick?”

Victor’s in too much pain to really make sense of the words properly, so he shrugs vaguely and hopes that’s good enough.

“Victor,” Yuuri says again, pushing his fringe out of his sweaty forehead, and making Victor open his eyes again. “Can I scent you?” Yuuri asks.

There’s absolutely no way Yuuri asked him that. Victor’s probably hallucinating everything that’s happening as a way to escape the pain, but on the off chance that Yuuri is real and that he really just said those words, he forces himself to nod.

A couple of tortuous seconds tick by in which nothing happens. Then Yuuri puts his hand on the shoulder that isn’t pressed to the bed, and slowly, so Victor knows what he’s doing, drags it up until it touches his neck. He rubs his fingers over the span of it, and Victor whimpers and tilts his head as much as he can to give him access.

He slides his palm over the span of his neck, scraping over his scent gland, and Victor feels like he’s being eased into something, but he doesn’t understand what until Yuuri’s palm disappears and is replaced by his wrist.

Yuuri smells lovely, Victor has always thought so. It’s hard to describe scents because they’re so intrinsically _your own_. A lot of people don’t smell like anything, they just smell like themselves. The best words you could put to scents would probably be feelings.

Yuuri has always smelled like loveliness and competiveness, the slightest bit of underlying anxiety, the scrape of blades on the ice and leaving the cold streets for the warmth of your home.

When he’s in heat there’s a sweetness to it, a mellowness, like sinking into a couch that is familiar with your body.

Yuuri touches the scent gland on his wrist to the one in Victor’s neck and rubs it in a slow circle like he’s trying to smear as much of his scent into Victor as he can, and Victor can’t _breathe_ , suddenly.

His body locks up, and the air gets trapped in his lungs and he suddenly feels so much, so much so much, he can’t _breathe_ -

“Shh,” Yuuri shushes him gently, “You’re doing great, but you need to breathe, Victor, okay?” His voice is soothing as he speaks to him, and he takes his wrist from Victor’s neck and no, no, no, Victor doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want that at all, so he opens his mouth and lets all the air out on a whimper, and then takes a greedy lungful of air back in, as his lungs start working again.

Yuuri runs his hand down Victor’s arm to his wrist, prying his hand open one finger at the time, and running a soothing thumb over the half-moon crescent marks etched into his palm. Then he takes his hand, interlocks their fingers and pushes their wrists together, punching Victor’s breath out of him again, and making his whole body tremble, but it doesn’t hurt.

His whole body hurts from over-exertion, his muscles feel sore and tenderized. Victor blinks, uncomprehending that the pain stopped.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he breathes out, a little like a prayer, a lot like confusion.

“You could’ve called if you felt yourself getting sick,” Yuuri says, and he sounds sad. Why is he sad? Yuuri should never be sad, and Victor feels himself make an involuntarily little upset sound that comes deep from his throat. “I know I’m probably not what you want, but- but I can help.”

Victor squeezes Yuuri’s hand in his, tugs a little because he wants him closer, wants to soothe away whatever’s making Yuuri sad.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he sighs out again.

“Is there someone I can call?” Yuuri continues and Victor doesn’t _understand_ anything that he’s saying.

“I’m not sick,” he says, and his voice hurts when it scrapes his throat. Victor doesn’t remember how long ago he was able to pick up a bottle of water. He coughs a little and makes a face.

Yuuri looks down at him worriedly, and then around Victor’s room.

“Okay, can you sit up a little?” he asks.

Victor tries, because he would do anything Yuuri asked of him, and Yuuri - because he is an angel - helps him prop himself against the headboard, which is no easy task when Victor refuses to let go of his hand. He feels like if he loses that point of contact he’ll hurtle back into the same painful state that had assaulted him earlier.

As soon as Victor is positioned properly, Yuuri reaches for the water bottle on Victor’s nightstand, uncapping it one-handedly and then pressing it up to Victor’s lips so he can take a drink. Victor realizes how thirsty he’d been as soon as the water hits his tongue and grabs the bottle from Yuuri, draining it quickly of its contents.

He has to catch his breath when he’s done, and dazedly blinks up at Yuuri, who’s awkwardly leaning over the bed since Victor is still holding his hand.

“You’re far away,” Victor finds himself saying without really meaning to.

Yuuri stares at him, and Victor can see the hesitation in the lines of his body and the way he bites his lip, so he puts the water bottle down on the bedside table and curls his fist on Yuuri’s t-shirt.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he breathes out again, and it sounds more like a pouty whine than anything else. And just like that Yuuri’s hesitance evaporates, and he climbs onto the bed, settling himself astride Victor’s lap.

Victor smiles goofily at him, the smile he knows is too ugly to show cameras, but he can’t really help himself. He takes Yuuri’s other hand in his and interlaces their fingers, feeling something settle in him and sigh out in contentment.

It’s a little awkward, holding someone’s hand and having your wrists kiss when they’re sitting on top of you, but this is the only thing keeping Victor tethered so he’s hard-pressed to let go.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, pulling Victor’s attention back from looking enamoredely at their joined hands.

“Hmm,” Victor hums, dreamily.

“Victor, you can’t let yourself get this sick,” he says, and Victor still doesn’t get that.

“I’m not sick,” Victor repeats, and there’s a twist to Yuuri’s mouth that’s annoyed. Victor doesn’t like it, so he grabs Yuuri’s hands and brings them towards his neck, presses his wrists against either side of it, before he puts his own wrists to Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri sighs out, and curls his fingers at Victor’s nape, burying them in the short hairs there.

“Victor,” he says, voice gentler, “that must’ve hurt, you can’t tell me you couldn’t tell heat sickness pain from a regular heat.”

Victor shrugs a shoulder. “It always feels like this.”

Yuuri stares at him. “What do you mean,” he says, and the words are supposed to sound like a question but they don’t.

“It’s always this painful. That’s just how my heats are.”

Yuuri stares some more, blinks a couple of times as if he’s having a hard time processing the information. “Please tell me you talked to a doctor about it.”

“I talked to a doctor about it,” Victor says dutifully. “He said it was normal.”

Yuuri’s fingers clench at Victor’s nape, and then immediately unclench and pet over it soothingly. “I’m going to kill him,” Yuuri says through gritted teeth and it almost sounds like a growl, like a promise.

Victor makes an upset sound, and rubs his wrists over Yuuri’s neck, buries his fingers in his soft hair and pets over it to soothe him. He can feel the tension incrementally leave Yuuri’s body.

Yuuri scoots further up Victor’s lap, and pulls his head down so it’s cradled in the crook of his neck, forcing Victor to drop one of his hands. He holds Victor as if he holds him close enough and in just the right way, he’ll protect him from the world, and Victor can feel something liquid spread over his joints and soothe some of the ache in his bones.

“You should never hurt this much for any reason, Victor,” Yuuri whispers against his hair. “When your heat passes we’re going to my family doctor, okay?”

Victor sighs into Yuuri’s neck, noses closer to Yuuri’s scent glad, and says, “Okay.”

«»

Victor wakes up when he feels the bed move around him. His throat is dry, and he has a sudden craving for pickled plum potato chips.

He tries to shove his face deeper into Yuuri’s neck and go back to sleep, because his mind still feels too foggy, and being awake is a pain. _Tries_ , being the imperative word, because Yuuri is pulling away and sitting up, and the panic that he might be leaving rises up in Victor’s throat so fast that he becomes wide awake.

A hand on the top of his head, petting gently, soothes him, and Victor wraps an arm around Yuuri’s thighs, pressing his face into his hip.

“ _Mari_ ,” Yuuri is saying in a whiney sort of voice Victor’s only hears from him when he’s talking to her. “Please just do this for me. Does it look like I can get up?”

“Lazy,” Mari says but there’s a smile in her voice.

Victor pulls away from Yuuri enough so he can peer at her.

She has the giant dog Minako gave Yuuri in her arms and is setting it on top of the bed. The plush hits the mattress with a muffle thump, and sends a wave of something amazing smelling towards Victor. He flares his nostrils a little to catch another lungful of it, and then sits up and pulls it up the bed by the ears, until it’s close enough so that he can hug it.

It really smells amazing. Victor could cuddle it forever.

Mari and Yuuri are saying words, but he’s not paying attention, until he hears his name being called.

“Hm?” he says, half-heartedly turning to them.

“You like it?” Mari asks, and there’s something teasing to her tone but Victor can’t really understand why.

So he just says, “This is mine now.” And flops back down onto the bed, tucking himself between Yuuri and the oversized plushie.

“No, no, no,” Yuuri is saying. “Up! You need to eat something.”

“I can eat lying down,” Victor says.

“You have to drink something too.”

“I can-“

“No, you can’t,” Yuuri cuts him off, shifting onto his knees on the bed, putting his hands under Victor’s arms and lifting him into a sitting position.

Victor gets hit with such a strong wave of arousal, he feels a little lightheaded with it.

“Wow,” he breathes out, as Yuuri’s face turns worryingly red.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Mari announces. “I’ll bring the stuff you asked for later. Have fun!”

“I- water! Yes! You need water! Hydration is important,” Yuuri says, and reaches to the bedside table where a small pack of water bottles has appeared.

“There’s other ways to quell my thirs-“

“Absolutely not,” Yuuri says, and presses a bottle to Victor’s lips, almost making him choke on it. Luckily for him, Victor is very good at swallowing.

He makes Victor drink the entire thing. And when he’s done, Yuuri reaches over the side of the bed, and all Victor can hear for a couple of seconds is plastic crinkling, before Yuuri straightens up again, a bag of chips in his hand.

He opens it and Victor is immediately greeted with the scent of plums as Yuuri offers it to him, shaking it a little bit as if that’ll make it more enticing.

Victor eagerly takes it from him and plunges his hand inside, breathing out a grateful, “God, I love you,” before he shoves his mouth full of potato chips.

Yuuri makes a choking sound, and Victor looks up at him a little confused as what might’ve elicited it before he goes back to eating.

“You’re so out of it,” Yuuri breathes out, and opens another bottle of water for Victor.

«»

Victor’s never been this lucid and pain-free during a heat, and he finds himself getting bored. It’s three in the morning, and he’s slept so much during the day that he’s wide awake. He almost wants to get up and do some stretches to loosen his sore muscles, but he doesn’t want to move.

Yuuri’s dead asleep behind him, he’s got one of his thighs in-between Victor’s and one of his arms wrapped around his chest, and his mouth is too close to Victor’s neck, breathing warm and steady over his scent gland.

It’s kind of driving Victor insane, if he’s being honest.

He’s also new to feeling anything resembling horny during his heats. It’s not unwelcome, exactly, but it is a little annoying because he doesn’t feel particularly inclined to do anything about it, even if the way Yuuri’s wrapped around him is definitely not helping.

Yuuri’s sleeping shorts have bunched up during his sleep, and Victor has been in nothing but his underwear this entire time, which means the scent glands in their thighs are pressed together, and it’s intimate in a way Victor can’t describe.

Sometimes Yuuri shifts in his sleep, cuddles in closer or pulls back a little bit, and his thigh drags between Victor’s legs and it makes him squirm, makes him want to grind down lazily onto it until he comes. But those are fleeting seconds. Mostly, Victor doesn’t want to move.

Instead he plays with the fingers in Yuuri’s limp hand, curls and uncurls them, slots his fingers in between his and presses their palms together, drags his fingers across the tendons in his wrist.

Yuuri’s a heavy sleeper, he doesn’t so much as stir as Victor entertains himself.

He presses his lips to the center of Yuuri’s palm and his fingers twitch. Victor stills, and then does it again at the bottom of his palm, and Yuuri’s fingers twitch again. He wants to do it lower, wants to put his lips over his wrist, wants to put his teeth there and bite down, but he knows that’s something for Yuuri to offer and not for Victor to take. And he doesn’t want to wake him up, so he brings his palm away from his mouth and presses it against his heart, and just breathes until the sun comes up again.

«»

If there’s any upside to Victor’s heats it is that they go by fast. His cycle usually takes four days to run its course, while Yuuri’s seem to land more around seven days.

By the end of the third day, Victor feels okay enough to take a shower. He feels sticky and disgusting, and the summer heat isn’t helping him feel any better.

He asks if he can take a bath, and Yuuri immediately offers to prepare one for him. Victor _adores_ him even more than he initially thought was possible.

He rinses away all the sweat and slick first before he steps in. Yuuri used one of his bath bombs, and there’s a scented candle burning in a corner, which makes the entire bathroom smell sweet and fruity.

To Victor’s disappointment, he doesn’t get in the bathtub with him.

“If you need anything… yell,” Yuuri says, as Victor pouts up at him while he makes his retreat.

Victor blows a raspberry after him, but settles in to enjoy his bath.

One hour into it, the water’s turning cold, but Victor’s still too comfortable to try to get out. That is until a strong cramp runs down his body, leaving him a little breathless.

It catches Victor off guard, and dread climbs up his throat at finding himself riddled with cramps again.

So he does the only thing he can. He yells.

“Yuuri!”

There’s silence for a couple of seconds, and Victor gets ready to scream again, when a thundering sound of someone running down the hall filters through the door, and then Yuuri’s throwing it back, looking a little out of breath and panicked.

“I’m here, I’m here. What’s wrong?”

Victor reaches an arm out, and Yuuri moves towards him as if pulled.

“Cramps again?” Yuuri asks, as he puts his wrists to Victor’s neck.

Victor wraps his fingers around his forearms and sighs in relief.

“You’re so good at that,” Victor tells him, tilting his head a little.

“I’m not really doing anything,” Yuuri says.

“You’re doing more than you know. I never had such a pleasant heat in my _life_.”

Yuuri kneels down by the bathtub so he doesn’t have to be hunched over.

They stay quiet for some time until Victor feels okay again. Or as okay as he can while his body is still trying to cycle him through a heat.

“How did you know what to do about my heat sickness?” Victor asks, because heat sickness isn’t something that’s really talked about as far as he’s aware.

Yuuri hesitates for a breath, and then says, “I got it a couple of times when I first moved to Detroit. I’d never spent a heat without my family around to take care of me so it was… difficult, and the suppressants they gave me in America worsened the symptoms of it. I couldn’t skate for days after the first time it happened.

“Celestino noticed and asked me what was wrong, and he immediately knew what it was, so he took me to a clinic, changed my suppressants, and changed me from a single dorm to a double to make sure I got enough contact. Phichit was easy to get along with, and the closer we got the more cuddly he was, which worked fine for both of us. My heat sickness stopped.”

“I thought Celestino was an alpha,” Victor says, starting to feel mellow under Yuuri’s touch.

“He is. He has a degree in omegas’ health, though. And one of his friends was bitten by an alpha when they were heat sick and too gone to say no, so he’s very careful with this sort of stuff.”

“Bitten?” Victor asks, startled by the notion.

“Some alphas think what they see in porn is real,” Yuuri says derisively.

“Does it work?”

Yuuri pauses. “It does.”

Bonding someone with a bite is incredibly intimate and special. It’s even more sacred than marriage is. And Victor’s eyes glaze over a little bit thinking about it, about wearing Yuuri’s teeth on his throat.

“You can bite me, if you want.”

Yuuri stares at him. He stares and stares and stares. His wrists are still pressed against Victor’s neck, Victor still has his hands wrapped around his forearms. And Victor feels like he’s suspended on a breath, held there by Yuuri.

“I’m not biting you before I kiss you,” Yuuri finally says, and Victor feels like all his strings were cut off and he’s fallen flat on his face.

“You can kiss me, if you want,” he says, feeling his heart hammer in his chest.

Yuuri can destroy him with his next words, and Victor realizes this – is terrified by it – in the seconds it takes for Yuuri to answer.

“Ask me again when you’re not in heat, okay?”

His tone is soft as he says it, to the point where his eyes crinkle in the corners with it, but it’s a sad kind of softness, a resigned kind of softness. Victor would kiss it away but he knows, gut-deep, that Yuuri would not be soothed by it, so he doesn’t.

Instead he whines, “You’re mean,” in his most put out voice and Yuuri laughs at him, slides his wrists from his neck so he can press his palms against Victor’s cheeks and squeeze them together, making his pout more pronounced.

“So mean,” he agrees, and then stops touching Victor and grabs one of the big fluffy towels that’s laying nearby, opening it up for Victor. “The water’s getting cold, you’ll get sick.”

Victor would protest, but stepping into Yuuri’s arms is much more appealing than staying in a cooling bath, so he steps out, and lets Yuuri wrap the towel around him.

«»

Victor’s heat breaks the next morning, and he’s a little disappointed by it when Yuuri takes everything he had brought over to Victor’s room back to his own.

He takes Yuuri back to the rink and they skate around each other slow and careful, this time Yuuri being the one who hovers. Victor doesn’t mind one bit, he glows under the attention.

They’ve grown closer during the last two weeks. They touch each other more, seek each other out for comfort, without really realizing that’s what they’re doing until someone points it out to them. Yuuri looks him square in the eyes, stutters less when he’s trying to talk with Victor, allows himself to be loud around him, to fill up space, instead of making himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.

And Victor finds himself being more careless around Yuuri, maintaining less of his carefully curated image, and leaving all the ugly parts exposed.

They also develop a sort of sixth sense when it comes to each other. Victor somehow immediately knows when Yuuri walks into a room, and the same seems to be true for Yuuri. It’s like they’re more in tune with each other.

Sometimes Victor will find himself feeling sad or lonely, and suddenly Yuuri will wander in and ask him if he wants to do something.

Sometimes Victor feels a discomfort in the pit of his stomach that doesn’t feel entirely his own and goes looking for Yuuri, sitting by him in quiet companionship until that discomfort goes away.

Sometimes Victor will catch Yuuri looking at him and feel a fondness, a warmth spread through him that doesn’t quite feel like his own either.

And sometimes he’ll look at Yuuri and think about how much he adores him, how much he cares for him, how much he loves him, and Yuuri will catch him looking and _smile_.

A week after his heat, when there can be no doubts that Victor is completely lucid, he turns to Yuuri as he feels that familiar warmth spread through him.

They’re sitting on the veranda that opens out to the back garden. It’s hot, and it’s late, and their hair is still damp from coming out of the onsen. The only things Victor can hear are muffled voices from inside the inn, too far away for him to make out any words, the song of the cicadas, and his own breathing.

He catches Yuuri looking, and he feels warm.

“Hey Yuuri,” Victor says, voice pitched low, and a teasing curl to his lips, “You can kiss me, if you want.”

Yuuri doesn’t do anything for a couple of seconds. His eyes go very wide and his cheeks get very read, and then-

And then he laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound Victor’s ever heard. He puts his hands on Victor’s cheeks and squeezes them together.

“You’re so mean, Victor, making me wait this long,” Yuuri says, but he doesn’t sound upset. He’s grinning, and Victor doesn’t get a chance to reply before he kisses him.

Yuuri kisses him sweet and soft and like a sigh, like he has been starving for it for years, like he’ll never let go, like he’ll imprint his fingertips on Victor’s cheek and neck, like they have all the time in the world and no time at all.

And something in Victor takes root deep in his heart, and sighs and settles. He melts into Yuuri’s hands and Yuuri melts into his.

He doesn’t have another bad heat after that.

**Author's Note:**

> as a lesbian, i'm contractually obliged to write omega/omega fic, otherwise god herself will murder me with her bare hands
> 
> you can find me on the [tumblrs](https://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com), and now on the [twitters](https://twitter.com/crossroadswrite) tho i feel like a grandma using the last one <3


End file.
